


blood & bruises

by scaredybear



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Mentions of Violence, Mild Hurt/Comfort, but here you guys go, it's plotless and full of aimless angst, not entirely sure where i was going with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 20:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7189640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaredybear/pseuds/scaredybear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do when someone breaks in front of you? How do you put the pieces back together again? She can’t, doesn’t know how, so Chloe falls apart at the seams with Max as a helpless bystander.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blood & bruises

Chloe turns up at Max's dorm close to four in the morning, reeking of rain and cigarette smoke. She's a mess, left eye swollen and blood spatters a shitty Pollock imitation on her tank top. Max stands in the doorway, gaping stupidly as Chloe grins at her like this isn't at all out of the ordinary. Something slick shines on her lips, her nose. More blood.

"You should see the other guy."

Max doesn't really want to.

She continues to stare at Chloe, how she wavers on the spot. The nonchalance from a moment ago has disappeared, and she leans against the doorframe for support. A hand rises and hovers above her ribs before dropping.

"Would be nice if you'd let me in, Maximillian." She huffs behind grit teeth, grimacing at the space between her boots. Her words spur Max into action, and she leads her to the couch that sits across from her bed.

"What the hell did you do?" Max blurts out. Adrenaline kicks in, making her feel wired and awake. Makes her hands shake ever so slightly. She swallows.

"A sick skate trick, obviously." Chloe falls on the couch with a grunt, her teeth a flash of white in the darkness. Soft orange light bathes the room when Max flicks on the lamp on her desk. Chloe sprawls out on the small loveseat, limbs loose despite the waves of tension that radiate from her body.

"Seriously, Chloe."

"Seriously, Max."

"You can't just show up at my room looking like that and expect to get away with crappy jokes." Max has no idea why Chloe chose to come to her and not, oh, she doesn’t know—a hospital, maybe? The cops, even?

"I'll have you know my jokes are grade A mater—"

 _"Chloe."_ Max urges. She can’t swallow down the fear and unease that bubbles up from the pit of her stomach. And then more softly, “What happened?”

She groans, a mix of exasperation and pain.

“I got into a fight, okay?” She rams a hand through her hair, her knuckles varying shades of green and purple. She glances at Max, eyes dark and unreadable, before shifting her gaze to Lisa who sits dying by the window. “It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Max echoes. “Chloe, you could have a broken rib or—or worse and I just—“ She’s rambling now, to hide the fear that continues to blossom in her chest. Chloe stares out the window, watching the rain make patterns. A muscle in her jaw hops, once, twice.

Max is so, so confused.

It’s far from the first time she’s seen Chloe bloody and bruised, but it’s the first time she’s been so ambiguous about it.

“You might as well tell me what happened.” Her voice is all softness to Chloe’s sharp edges. 

The other girl grows far too contemplative for someone typically loud and boisterous, as if she’s considering the downside to opening up and letting people in. She takes a seat beside her, places a hand on her arm (a gentle reassurance). Their shoulders are close enough to brush, though there might as well be miles of distance between them. Chloe relaxes after a moment, leaning into the touch. Relief pools in Max’s chest; for an awful moment, she had convinced herself she crossed some imaginary line.

“It’s just dumb shit, and I was acting stupid. As usual.” The laugh that comes from Chloe is hollow. Seems too big and too loud for her tiny room. “Big fucking surprise, huh?”

Max remains quiet, mostly because she’s not sure what to say. Partly because her attention is focused on the way dried blood has turned brown, how Chloe’s eye has swelled to the point she can no longer see out of it.

“That doesn’t answer anything.” She mentions, eyes lingering on blue and green and black flesh.

"Some asshole started talking smack about Rachel, and I lost it." Chloe curls in on herself, head in her hands. Max knows better; it's not just "some asshole”. How vague Chloe is being about it all tells her the wound is too raw to pick.

It always is when it comes to Rachel.

It always will be when it comes to Rachel. Rachel’s been buried months ago, but Chloe is in a state of perpetual mourning—raw, oozing, angry. A walking sore that won’t scab over, content to bleed out.

"I really fucked up." Her voice is so small and so sad. She says it mostly to herself, and Max wonders if she was meant to hear it at all. She wants so badly to hold her, to smooth away all her hurts. Placing a hand at the top of her spine is as close as she gets.

"Maybe we should clean you up." Max suggests, for lack of anything else to do. Her hand rubs small circles on the ridges of Chloe’s spine. They jut out like a mountain range.

"Right," Her voice is oddly thick. "don't want me getting blood all over your hipster couch." She's trying to joke. It falls flat, dives into dangerously uncomfortable territory. Something in the delivery bothers Max, though she has neither the energy nor the acumen to put it into words.

So she grabs her hand and squeezes, says, "I just want to make sure you're okay."

“Yeah.” And she sounds tired, tired, tired. Like she’s been exhausted for years and just can’t sleep. Chloe sits angled away from Max, eyes focused once again on Lisa and its wilting leaves. Wiping at her eyes with jerky movements, she sniffles in response. She doesn’t shake her hand out of Max’s hold, lets her run her thumb over the cracked knuckles.

Max waits. Max waits, and lets Chloe pretend that she’s not crying in front of her. (What do you do when someone breaks in front of you? How do you put the pieces back together again? She can’t, doesn’t know how, so Chloe falls apart at the seams with Max as a helpless bystander.)

She’s not sure how long they sit like that, with Chloe half-turned from her and Max running her thumb down her knuckles like that simple movement can wipe away all her aches. Early morning sunlight slants sideways through her window, and she knows they better move. (The bathroom won’t be empty much longer.)

Ratty green towel in hand, Max takes her down the hall to the bathroom. Chloe is surprisingly (worryingly) obedient and lets her clean off the grime and grit still marring her face. Somehow, wiping off the blood only serves to make the bruises stand out more. 

“Jesus, Chloe,” she hisses under her breath. Her hands tremble every so slightly. She moves to dab at the left side of her mouth; Chloe catches her wrist with cold fingers. Her good eye stares at Max, searching her face with an intensity that forces a shudder down her spine.

“It’s fine,” But her voice cracks and everything is decidedly not fine, no matter how much she might say it is. “you don’t need to baby me anymore.”

“Let me help you,” Max can’t help the edge of irritation that seep into her words. “you can’t keep doing this—pushing me away when everything goes to shit.” Chloe’s fingers are still laced around her wrist, grip loosening. A furrow forms between her brows, mouth trying to form a sentence that won’t come.

“You don’t need to tell me what happened,” Max presses on. “I won’t ask. Just let me help you.” Chloe considers the offer for a beat before nodding vaguely, finally moving her gaze to the chipped linoleum beneath their feet. She lets go of her wrist, hand dropping to her lap.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She jokes weakly. She tries to smile, though somewhere down the line it just curls up and dies. Max sighs, takes Chloe by the hand again and leads her back to her room. She's too tired to continue bickering with her. The hallways are blessedly quiet, and blessedly free of other students. 

Together, they squeeze on to her bed. Chloe doesn’t protest, and falls into Max’s embrace, head nestled in the crook of her shoulder.

"If this an elaborate ruse to get me naked, there's easier ways to go about it." Chloe mumbles into her collarbone. Her breath is warm, unlike the rest of her. The tank top she’s wearing is still damp from last night’s rain. Max hugs her closer.

"Keep dreaming." She says into Chloe's hair, rain and sweat filling her nose.


End file.
